


We've All Lost Something

by TalesOfErynGalen



Series: Infinity War Hopes and Dreams [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Gen, I cried and idk if i should put a warning for it, Leaving Hawke in the Fade, Sakaar (Marvel), Thor is Hawke's new therapist, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesOfErynGalen/pseuds/TalesOfErynGalen
Summary: After being left in the Fade, Garrett Hawke miraculously survives the Nightmare. This new pocket of the Fade he's found isn't exactly any better. He isn't even sure it's the Fade anymore. At least he has one final chance to get everything off his chest before he dies for the Grandmaster's entertainment.





	We've All Lost Something

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm not certain how good this is. I didn't mean for it to be this emotionally heavy, and anyone easily upset or who has issues with family death might not want to read it. It's the first in a series of Marvel crossovers I'm writing before Endgame, before all my hopes and dreams are crushed. It's a oneshot for now, but I may make a sequel with Hawke helping out in Infinity War. I hope you all enjoy!

Garrett Hawke was, undeniably and irrefutably, bored as hell. And doomed. He cared more about the former, at the moment. If he was going to have to fight to his own bloody death against one of the other “prisoners with jobs,” dwelling on it until he stepped into the arena was useless. Worse than useless, actually, if he wasted his last hours fretting like an old hen instead of enjoying it.

He was dwelling on it again. Damn.

Idly, he let sparks play across his fingertips, watching them gradually fizzle out each time he tried to make them stronger. His staff, or any capacity for non-staff magic, would make this much more bearable. If he had a staff, he might even stand a chance in the arena, but his request had been ignored. That was what he got, he supposed, for stabbing one guard through the throat with the staff blade and lighting the other on fire when they arrested him for loitering on the lawn of someone-or-other who was _ very  _ important and didn’t like the bearded man with a large stick, who happened to be trying to understand why, in the name of all fucks, the Fade rift had dropped him into this hellscape. He wasn’t certain he was out of the Fade yet, actually. This place - he didn’t recall its name - seemed like a reflection of Tevinter, but with less sense and more brutality.

Fenris would win the arena fights. He would utterly destroy whoever he was pitted against, especially with the possibility they were demons. He’d won an entire arena circuit before,  hadn’t he? When he traded his freedom and memory for his family’s release? And that had been when he was very young, with little training. He didn’t need magic to fight either. He could use a sword, a mace and shield, or just flat out tear his enemies’ hearts out with his bare hands.

Garrett was wounded from fighting the Nightmare, bereft of his staff, his robes so badly damaged over the past weeks that he’d settled for tying their remnants around his waist, and almost without magic. Merrill or Anders would even be better suited to this. Anders had Justice, and an unhealthy amount of rage. Merrill could slice her arms open and tear the prison to the ground. Neither of them needed a staff.

Briefly, he considered trying to fight with blood magic. Powerful, yes...but if he was still in the Fade, he would have just sealed his fate.

But hadn’t he already, by staying behind in the first place?

Fuck it all.

One of the pieces of debris littering the floor was close enough to his foot, and sharp. He picked it up, examining it closely. Some kind of pale green glass, from what he could see, and roughly triangular. Two sides were rough and broken, while one still had a fine razor edge. He did his best to wipe it off - he had nowhere near Anders’ skill in healing - before setting it to his upper arm, where he usually wore his painted sigil. His hand or forearm would have made more sense for spellcasting, yes, but...the thought of having one last familiar piece of home before he died felt right. He started to dig the blade into his skin.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

Garrett tensed, hand stilling in surprise. The high, accented voice of one of the other prisoners - some kind of spirit, doubtless, though he still couldn’t tell what kind, with a rocky skin and absolutely nothing to say but a stream of poor jokes. He thought it might have been the Fade mocking him - his final punishment for how flippant and sarcastic he’d been back in Kirkwall, and how he’d failed to fully realize the corruption building up, ready to overflow. He started to finish the cut, ready to test out his grasp of blood magic on the annoying mirror of his younger self, when something hit him. Not like a thought, at all. Not an epiphany, some realization of the spirit’s purpose, or the deeper meaning of his captivity. No, it had to be a physical hit, like being slapped all across his left side with a very determined bag of bricks.

He toppled to the side with a grunt, barely managing to nick his arm before the glass shard was knocked from his hand and skittered across the floor. The crushing weight of whatever the hell hit him now practically smothered him, holding him to the floor in a...a hug?

_ What the hell? _

He shoved against it, sending it toppling off to the side, and hurriedly leapt to his feet. A glance to his arm showed that he’d drawn a couple small beads of blood - enough to protect himself, maybe, if he was smart. He started to draw on it, feeling even just the smallest drop supplement his mana more than he’d expected, when his assailant spoke, sounding less...angry than he’d been expected, he supposed.

“Well, that’s a great thank you to give someone after they save your life.”

“Save my-?” Garrett looked down at his attacker, bewildered. He looked like another human. Almost a blond version of himself - with a bigger chin. The man propped himself up on one elbow, eyeing Garrett critically. Warily, sort of, like someone in Kirkwall when they saw someone else who they thought might be a pickpocket, apostate, assassin, or pickpocketing assassin apostate. Or a mage determining whether that templar they just bumped into was going to attack them. Even if this man was a spirit - he doubted it, since he so nearly mimicked a human, with no tells as far as he could determine - he didn’t look hostile, just not wanting a fight. Just as a warning, Garrett used the power he’d gained from his blood to loose a stonefist towards the opposite wall.

“Aw, shit, I’m outta here. Hey, see ya later, man.” The rock-skinned spirit turned and jogged away a little too quickly to be casual. The yet-unnamed man slowly stood up, and Garrett couldn’t help but make an indignant noise in his throat.

_ He’s taller than me! _

In Kirkwall, not many people had been taller than him, aside from the Qunari and the odd thug, and he’d  _ known  _ who they were, what they were, and how to beat them in a fight. This man was an unknown. To put it simply - he’d never so completely understood how Fenris felt about their height difference.

He bowed up slightly, hoping to lessen the difference. It didn’t work, judging by the other man’s snort and the brief shake of his shoulders before he regained control of himself. “Is everyone here crazy from being locked up so long, or is it just me?”

“It’s just you.” Garrett sorely missed the weight of his staff in its sling across his back. He missed his spiky pauldron and his gorget, both of them abandoned in the Fade to help him move faster. He didn’t want this to go south, but he knew himself and he knew that his big mouth would get him in trouble. Even after all these years,  _ that _ had been the first and only response to come to him. He resisted the urge to cringe at himself. “So, I’m guessing you’re new?”

“Yes, but not for long. I’m getting out soon.” He was still examining Garrett curiously. “And who exactly are you?”

“I’m not the new guy anymore.” Garrett sighed at himself in exasperation. “Force of habit. Call me Hawke. Mercenary extraordinaire, infamous apostate, and...probably very dead, very soon.”

“Thor, God of Thunder.”

“And of course you’re not normal!” Garrett crossed his arms, looking up at the ceiling. “I never get normal people, do I? No, they’re always royalty, on the run, or just plain crazy. Weeks,  _ weeks  _ of trekking around, stuck in the Fade after I killed the biggest spider I have  _ ever  _ seen in my life, and the one person I see who isn’t a fucking spirit says he’s a god!” He looked back to Thor, desperation in his eyes. “Please, please say you don’t actually think you’re a god. I’m begging you. I’ve been slowly going insane and I  _ need _ someone with some semblance of sanity to talk to.”

“Okay, fine, fine,” Thor held up his hands in surrender. “I retract my statement. Absolutely not a god. That’s more of a nickname, anyway.” He sat against the wall, near where Garrett had been pondering his situation. His brow creased in confusion. “So, you said you killed a really big spider? How big, exactly?” He held up his hands, outlining a spot roughly twice the size of a dinner plate. “Like this?”

Garrett smirked. The expression almost made him feel more at home. He looked around the circular prison, measuring it, then chuckled. “It could’ve crushed this entire place with two stomps. Big as a castle keep.”

Thor blew out a long breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, no. Nope. I....do  _ not  _ want to think about that. That’s a horrible thought. An entire  _ keep? _ ”

“I’m estimating. I know it was big enough that I could never run fast enough to get out of its sight for even a moment. Once it was dead, I ran around it just to see how long it would’ve taken.” He made a gesture in the air, thinking. “Took about four minutes. Back home, four minutes got me from getting out of bed to getting arrested.”

“I really... _ do not  _ wish to think about that spider anymore.” Thor visibly shuddered, leaning his head back on the wall and closing his eyes. “The stuff of nightmares.”

Garrett huffed an ironic laugh. “Literally.”

“So, Hawke, was it?” Thor cracked an eye open to look at him. “Why do you think you’ll die soon?”

“The arena, naturally. Seen plenty of people come back, even as victors, and die from their injuries. The ones who lose are always worse, practically torn to shreds  _ and _ beaten to a pulp.” He gulped. “I’m - probably going to be one of them. The losers. I’ve only ever trained with one weapon, with my staff, and I’ve already had it taken from me. I’m  _ useless,  _ worse than useless actually, without a conduit for my spells. I’ll be dead in one round, more than likely.”

“Magic?” Thor sat forward, all of a sudden intent and interested. “You’re a sorcerer?”

“...yes?” Garrett scratched his head. “Although sorcerer sounds a lot more impressive than ‘dangerous apostate.’ That’s what they usually call me. Technically started a war and all, you know.” He waved his hands in the air, rolling his eyes. He hadn’t started the Mage-Templar war. That had been a mess waiting to boil over for decades. If anything,  _ Anders  _ was the catalyst that broke the dam, starting the battle at the Gallows. Hawke just reacted, protecting the (mostly) innocent to the best of his ability, and becoming a wanted criminal in the process.

“That...sounds interesting. You’ll have to tell me about it after we escape.”

“Escape?” Hawke raised a brow, holding back a hysterical chuckle. Escape wasn’t possible. If he still had his  _ damn  _ staff, it may have been a piece of cake. Focus his mana on the wall, blast it with a fireball (repeatedly) and sprint away through the rubble. He could maybe replicate the effect with blood magic but...well, Merrill was the expert on  _ that.  _ Garrett, on the other hand, was very close to absolutely certain that he would bleed himself dry if he tried.  _ Damn experienced blood mages and their abnormal amount of blood. _ “Did they hit you over the head before they brought you in? This place is locked down tighter than a Circle tower, and that’s speaking as someone who’s broken into a few.”

“Trust me, I’m fully aware of our situation, but,” Thor smirked, gesturing to the wall. Garrett expected to...maybe see something when he looked towards it, but no. Maybe Garrett himself had been locked up too long. He hadn’t realized that the gesture was towards what was  _ beyond _ the wall - the palace of the so-called Grandmaster, and the bloody arena they were all expected to fight and die in. “I believe I may be able to win everyone’s freedom. I’m scheduled to fight the Grandmaster’s champion.”

Whatever small hope had sparked in Garrett at  _ win everyone’s freedom  _ was abruptly extinguished with  _ Grandmaster’s champion. _ He tilted his head back and pursed his lips, fighting not to lash out and kick one of the stupid debris pieces into the wall. He hadn’t heard of this “champion” before now, and he doubted he’d hear about him again. Even normal combatants had devastating fights that often ended in death for both parties. If the Grandmaster had a favorite, it was nearly certain it was an extremely strong being, and even if, by some miracle, Thor managed to have the upper hand...the Grandmaster would intervene, doubtless.  _ Tevinter but stranger. Almost worse. Wish you were here, Fen. Or not. I know you’d hate it, but you’d probably already have a revolution going. _

“Once I kill this champion, I have been promised my freedom. It should be a simple matter from there, I think, to free the rest of you.”

“What makes you so certain you can kill the champion?” Garrett clenched his fists, looking back to Thor. He met his eyes calmly, confidently, with a bit of a challenge. Garrett recognized that look. The forced mindset of  _ I can do this and I won’t fail _ that he’d been able to keep up right up to the moment he’d turned to face the Nightmare, and heard the Inquisitor and her party sprinting towards the Rift. Whether Thor was a machination of the Fade or not, Garrett saw an uncomfortable mirror between their lives. Thor was approaching his Nightmare. He had no doubt. When the arena gates closed behind him, and he had to face his opponent…

Maybe that parallel was what he needed to see. Garrett had survived the Nightmare. Maybe Thor would survive his, too. Maybe his promise held some worth.

“I’m sorry,” He interrupted Thor before he could speak - likely to say something along the lines of  _ I’ve faced worse _ \- and, feigning an indifference he didn’t feel, slid down the wall to sit beside the other man. “It’s hard to keep up hope, you know. This place...it’s so far from home. I can’t even be certain I left the hellscape I was trapped in.” He paused, breathing deeply. “I have a family back home, you know. I don’t know for certain where they are now. I left them without even saying goodbye. I thought I’d be back in a few days. Talk to the Inquisitor, catch up with Varric, and head home. And now I’m...here.”

“I certainly understand. Although, my family is the entire reason I’m here.” Thor shook his head. “My sister - I didn’t even know I had a sister, until yesterday - she’s insane. She kicked me and my brother, both, from the Bifrost, and we landed here. My brother, Loki, had the  _ opportunity  _ to free me, but instead chose to let me be imprisoned. And all of this because of my father-” He cut off abruptly, pursing his lips. Garrett looked off to the side awkwardly, and caught sight of the slightly bloodied glass he’d held before. He quietly picked it up, turning it over and over and examining it far more closely than broken glass required.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “At least you still have blood kin left alive. I’m not nearly so fortunate. My mother was all I had left, and I lost her nearly…” He had to stop and count. It had been so many years since he’d openly acknowledged Leandra’s passing. “Almost six years ago, now. But, I have Fen, and I have my son. It helps to think about them, sometimes. I know Fen’s keeping Malcolm safe and happy. As happy as either of them can be, anyway. Varric likely already told them I’m presumed dead.”

A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder. Thor’s face looked even more sombre than previously. As their eyes met, an understanding passed between them, whether Garrett liked it or not. They’d both seen a parallel, it seemed. “I’m sorry. Losing kin...it is not an easy thing, no matter how many years pass.”

“No shit.” Garrett stretched out, sliding to the floor. Finally. Maybe this was the Fade’s way of helping him atone for his past, before he died. This was his absolution. In any case, it helped get his mind off his impending doom. In a way, it felt like he was spending it with family. “It was my father the first time. I was six. The twins were young enough they never remembered him. I think there was a,” it physically hurt him to close his eyes and count.  _ Why did I never think of them, in all this time?  _ “...almost a four year difference between us. He actually didn’t die for a while, I think. Mother never told me the specifics, but I found out. Eventually.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Captured by the Circle. He took the fall for me, after I exhibited signs of magic. Said it was him that set the fire I’d accidentally started when I sneezed. They had him for...maybe six months. He tried to escape a lot, and the last time, he got far enough that they decided it was easier to shoot him down than recapture him. We didn’t know he was dead until a Chantry sister brought us his ashes.”

Thor probably didn’t want to hear how Garrett’s family died, but at the moment, he didn’t care. This was his confession. Maybe the Maker would welcome him with open arms, “The twins were next. Bethany first - poor, sweet Beth. She was only sixteen years old, and we were fleeing the destruction of our village, with what felt like the full force of the Blight on our heels. We backed ourselves into a corner, because we didn’t know where to go to escape. Bethany and I both had magic, and we were who Mother looked to to solve most problems, once we’d grown into our strength. I was distracted. An ogre almost got Mother, and my sister...I’ll never forget, not even hearing a scream when the beast picked her up and flung her around like a child’s toy.” He didn’t want to bury his face in his hands, but he didn’t want to see the forced interest that was undoubtedly on Thor’s face either. “We couldn’t even bury her. Left her to rot in the wilds while we doubled back to the northern coast, to take a ship to Mother’s family in Kirkwall. We had maybe a year, with my brother, Carver and I doing mercenary work to help Mother buy back her old life. We bought our way onto a Deep Roads expedition.” Behind his eyelids, he could still see the caravan, the endless, twisting paths of the Roads, and red. His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “We came out with enough gold to set our family  _ and _ friends up for life. If only we’d come out with Carver, too. He was infected with the Blight at some point after our employer locked us in one of the chambers, and he died only a mile from the surface...by my hand, at his request. He didn’t want to die from - from that.”

His voice cracked, and for once he welcomed it. The end of his life wasn’t a time to be strong for others. “We at least got to bury him. I carried him the last mile, and then a while longer on the surface. His grave’s at a little pond, beside a river. A few days travel from Kirkwall. I kept telling myself I’d go back, but I never - I was ashamed. Alright? I treated my brother like shit the past year, and he ended up dead because I wasn’t quick enough. Just like Bethany. And then, when Mother went...Maker.  _ Went _ isn’t the right word. It’s too peaceful. She was abducted,  _ taken _ , and by the time I caught up - she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t lucky enough. She’d been torn to pieces at the whim of a madman, and when I got to her, she was still conscious, still speaking...and I held her as she died.” The tears came like he’d been holding them back for years. “I’d been hunting the bastard that killed her for five years by then - five  _ fucking  _ years. He killed and tore apart  _ dozens  _ of people to fuel his twisted experiments, and I was such a fool that I didn’t take it seriously until it was  _ Mother _ .And that’s just my family. There are  _ hundreds  _ of lives that ended because of me. The explosion, the war, all the shit I wasn’t good enough to stop in Kirkwall. I can’t wait to step into the arena, because that’s going to be my justice. All the shit I’ve done…and Fen, and my son. I’m never going to see them again. Maybe they’ll live full lives with me gone.”

Silence followed his words. He reveled in it. It felt like he was floating, in the odd, numb feeling that followed crying. He kept his eyes closed, head buried in his hands, feeling tears pooling in his hands. He wouldn’t look up. He wouldn’t. Thor had probably already left, he was alone, just like always-

He flinched in surprise when he was yanked into a too-tight hug. He remained awkwardly curled up, shaking without meaning to while he tried to control his breathing, but strong arms held him with a bone-breaking grip nonetheless. Thor’s chin rested on top of his head. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Thor was the one to break it. “They would want you to live. You didn’t cause any of their deaths. You have a family that’s still waiting for you, back on your home planet.” He pushed Garrett back by his shoulders. Garrett looked up, slowly. “So, why don’t we help you get ready to fight? You’ll need to get back in one piece to try and escape with us.”

Garrett didn’t make the conscious decision to stand, but then he was, and words couldn’t describe how utterly  _ pissed  _ he was, even through his grief, that he had to tilt his head back to look Thor in the face.  _ What is he, a Qunari? _ “You’re very determined, aren’t you? And...did you just say I’m on a different  _ planet _ ?”

“You didn’t know?” Thor casually picked up a long stick of wood that was leaning against the wall, spinning it idly. “Your homeworld - Kirkwall, you said? - must be a  _ real  _ shithole. You’ll have to tell me more about it, because to be honest, I didn’t understand half of what you said.”

Garrett shoved his incredulity to the back of his mind. Determination was rapidly overcoming his grief, like a steel wall being erected. He’d felt it before, running from the Darkspawn, when he carried Carver to his grave, and when he fought Leandra’s killer. He easily caught the stick when Thor tossed it to him. “Alright. Get me back to Kirkwall, and I’ll tell you everything about it. I think my friends would like you, if you’d like to stick around.” He quirked an eyebrow and smirked in challenge. “My husband, however, will probably hate you for being so damn  _ tall _ .”

“Then I’ll mock him for his height, as well.” Thor picked up two other pieces of debris, and fell into a ready stance.

Garrett grinned and struck.


End file.
